


Magic of Science

by Flora (florahart)



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-09
Updated: 2012-09-09
Packaged: 2017-11-13 21:03:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/507698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/florahart/pseuds/Flora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony surprises himself by kissing Bruce</p>
            </blockquote>





	Magic of Science

**Author's Note:**

> Initially posted [at the kinkmeme](http://avengerkink.livejournal.com/9218.html?thread=21450498#t21450498); minor edits here.

"Don't you think?" Bruce looks up sideways at Tony, like he's trying to keep one eye on the curve as it generates but he can't not check what Tony thinks. His eyes are bright with the magic of science--Tony dismisses that phrase as absurd even as it's entering his head, but it's fucking true, science is what magic wants to be when it grows up and Bruce is goddamn lit up with that feeling, and it's a feeling Tony knows. A feeling he owns. Or, it owns him, maybe, is truer. Bruce glances back at the data and grins, his face still directed vaguely toward Tony. It's a goofy grin, uneven and soft, like it's too busy being perfect to try for perfection.

What the hell, Tony asks himself, shaking his head like a dog that got a static spark to the nose as he tries to settle down and think, be rational, stop with the bad poetry already because there is Bruce. "Tony?"

"What?"

"Something wrong?" And the grin is diminished, like it's still there, lurking, but Tony's paused too long and now Bruce has to wonder and he can't have that.

"No. No, just woolgathering. Go on."

Bruce shrugs and goes back to the columns on the third monitor, chewing his lip as a new model renders on the second one, and Tony--

kisses him.

leans in, captures the teeth and the lips all in one maneuver and yeah, he's kissed a lot of people but he's never quite not realized he was going to before.

Bruce pulls away and blinks at him, and Tony blinks back, readies his mouth to murmur _sorry, sorry, I just, you know, I get distra--_ and then Bruce is turning, bringing his free hand up and into Tony's hair and gently, carefully like Tony's made of crystallized sugars and Bruce is the Hulk (he is, but he's not, but a shiver judders through Tony as he thinks it and he opens his mouth into Bruce's exploring tongue) kisses him back.

The kiss isn't the kind that means clear the counter and screw the data because it's time for sex. It's not--it's not _not_ a prelude to sex; it's just that the heat in it is controlled, banked, like it's a promise with no deadline, open-ended, and after a minute, they pull apart. 

Tony clears his throat. "Well. I--" He stops. "I don't even know what to say," he mumbles finally. "That, can we, um."

Bruce's eyes are lit up again, but this time it's different. This time he's looking at Tony like it's the magic of _Tony_ that's made him beautiful and eager, and Jesus, Tony has a narcissistic streak wide enough to land the helicarrier on but this is heady and new, and he leans forward again, just for a taste, a peck.

Bruce kisses him back again, lazy and slow, then nips at his lip and jerks his head toward the display. "This needs input in maybe eight minutes," he says. "We could hurry this,"--he waves a hand back and forth between them--"and then come back to it, but I'd rather wait, set it up on schedule, and then take my time with you."

Tony nods, a jerk of his chin, and steps back.

Bruce chuckles. "I didn't say we couldn't take, say, six of those minutes for kissing," he says. 

Tony shakes his head. "I think I'm more like one minute from combustion," he says, quick, staccato, picking up a pen to tap as well like he can pretend this is just like everything else (it's not, it's so not, his heart feels like it's squeezing itself into an actual little valentine in his chest under the reactor). 

Bruce catches his tapping pen, squeezes his fingers, and leans close, lips tracing along the shell of his ear. "Hold that thought."


End file.
